Nick and I sat out Saturday AM to get a little Ragbrai training in on the Chichaqua Valley Trail, which runs 20 miles from Bondurant to Baxter. Shortly after starting we encountered two old farmers that had managed to wedge their beater truck onto a small wooden bridge on the trail. When they saw us coming those ole boys started jimmyin' that truck back and forth in a highly ineffective effort to get out of our way. As we passed they informed us they were out looking for cattle on the loose. I thought they might have more trouble pulling their truck out of the creek after the bridge collapsed but, hey, whatev. You could certainly see and SMELL the evidence of the rogue cows all over the trail. Ugh.
As if that wasn't strange enough, when we began nearing Baxter we passed a horseman at one of the road crossings. Thinking nothing of it we kept cruising right along. A few minutes later we hear a faint, but distinctive, sound of hoofs clip clopping on the pavement behind us. It was hard to tell how far back it was, but it was certainly gaining on us, quickly. Nick and I, not being down with the whole trampled to death bit, pushed the pace. The CLIP CLOP only got louder...and louder and louder. Soon it was ringing in my ears with every peddle stroke. That's not clip...clop as in a trot, that's clipclopclipclopclipclop as in a gallop (and not the poll....Get it? Gallup Poll? Aw, nevermind, its not funny if you haveta explain it). Anyway, I was behind Nick and saw him occasionally sneak a peek back, but I didn't want to play Ichabod Crane to the Hessian (Headless Horseman), so I didn't look, I just kept on peddling.
After what seemed like the length of the Tour De France we arrived at the next road crossing. Thankfully Haste gave up the chase at this point. Nick said he was right behind me off to the side a bit. I know I have an ample draft, but COME ON.
Just plain weird.
Next time I go to Baxter I could do without the Armageddon (and cow) crap.
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